Fable 3: The Baker's Son
by Tigerdust
Summary: Third in my QaF fairy tales series, as told by Gus to his eldest daughter Rachel. Mostly, these are Ben and Michael pairings with a happy ending. And who doesn't love happy endings?


Once upon a time, there was a young man named Michael. He was walking through a dapper forest, shielded from most of the heat of the day. He wore that same grin he always had as if his mind was stuck in the midst of a beautiful day dream. A pail swung at his side. His father had sent him out for water.

Michael didn't mind that his father had done this as a distraction. "Michael," his father had barked, "don't over knead the dough! Where is your head?"

Most days, Michael didn't have an answer to this question. Michael didn't want to have an answer to this question. Michael just wanted to be left alone. He was a dreamer during school, a dreamer while working at his father's bakery. He was a dreamer that saw fairies drifting by lazily in the forest as he walked toward the well.

There was really nothing remarkable about the well itself. Stones grew heavy with moss and age, changed forever to a tint of rusty grey and a useless top shielded the object from rain and allowed for a crank and bucket to be latched on.

Michael looked at himself in the reflection of the deep, cool water. He smiled at himself, waving and hoping that his reflection might wave back. No luck this time either. So Michael made his reflection ripple with the movement of the bucket and the return, dripping trip back to the surface of the well. Michael smiled and shrugged again, prepared for the nice walk back home.

But something made him stop and pluck a dandelion from nearby the shadow of the fountain. It was strange to see something growing without sunlight that wasn't ivy. Michael examined the tiny, furry flower as he plucked. He set the seeds of the dandelion afloat with his breath, leaving behind a wish on the little white petals. A few of them landed in the well.

"Finally!" Michael's father bellowed in a joking tone. "Did you fall in the water?"

"No." Michael answered, setting the water above a nearby fire to boil and purify. "I was just halted by a flower. It was strange to see a dandelion growing in the shadow of the old well."

Victor, Michael's father, furrowed his brow thick with flour. "Is that so? I hope you made a wish, wouldn't want to waste a dandelion."

Michael wrinkled his nose as he sat at his own table and began to knead the next bowl of risen dough his dad had set for him in his absence. "I didn't think about it."

Victor chuckled. "Child, the day you stop wishing for something is the day the sun will go dark." Michael shook his head, but secretly wondered if he had wasted a wish.

For nearly a week, the conversation and the dandelion went on forgotten. The town was busy preparing for a spring festival and a baker shop at the height of a spring festival gets busy enough that even Michael has an excuse to slack from his studies. Secretly, Victor was very proud of the way his son cherished his old man's shop and he hoped it would always be so.

Twilight came soon enough on this particularly busy day and Michael went out into the street to bring the signs in for the day and to lock the front door. He barely caught the fire from the corner of his eye. An old, abandoned mill near the midst of town was ablaze! Most people were set down to dinner and wouldn't notice until it was too late.

Making sure sign and door were in their proper place, Michael hurried to get his bucket from the kitchen. He ran toward the fire to find that only one other had yet seen the blaze. For a moment, Ben caught Michael's eye before his back turned away. It was strange seeing the son the of the local natural healer in town. Their cottage was farther away than even the farthest well of town. They survived merely on the call of wives afraid to go to the hospital or for the mentally ill and aged.

Ignoring the feeling in his stomach upon seeing Ben, Michael scooted toward Ben's water supply and pumped hard to get water into his own bucket. Glances exchanged briefly again, Ben grabbed for Michael's bucket as water continued to flow. The blaze began to fold under the teamwork until Michael could only make out Ben's form in the dark, sweat clinging and dripping to his grey shirt.

Once the fire was contained, Michael went to speak and clasp hands with the handsome stranger. Ben's shadow was there, but Ben was not. He had escaped somehow during the last dying ember of the fire under the darkness of night. Michael shrugged, grabbing the only other bucket left at the scene and whistling as he trotted home, late for supper.

The next morning was tiring enough for Michael. His muscles burned from pumping and kneading and his father had chided him for letting that soothsayer's boy collect his bucket for theirs. Michael's small family was farther along with wealth than Ben's family and Ben's bucket was proof of it. Rickety was a good word. It was crafted well, once, a long time ago. But now it was misshapen with just enough holes to let you know that you'd only arrive home with half of the water you went to collect.

It didn't take long for Michael to decide that he needed a matching set of tired legs to go with his aching arms. He began the trudge toward Ben's family house. It was easy enough to rehearse what he needed to say, but when he arrived, Michael found the scent wafting from the house made both his memory and stomach queasy.

Knocking regardless, he found Ben standing at the door. The smell was more intense from further inside the house and Ben was just alive with the musk of root, potato, and something that Michael was sure he didn't want to know about.

"Yes?" Ben's gaze focused on Michael while he gripped the doorway on either side.

"I'm sorry, but do you remember me from last night?"

Ben nodded with a grimace. "I wondered how long it would take you to get tired of lugging my bucket all around."

Michael shook his head. "No, it's not that. It's just..."

Ben waved a hand to stop Michael's sentence. "I understand completely, I really do."

Michael exchanged Ben's bucket for his own. "I'm sorry about the mix-up."

Ben shrugged. "It was dark. Could have happened to anyone."

Michael continued talking, even though Ben was clearly ready to shut the door behind him. "What I meant to say is that you did a great job with the fire."

"I couldn't have done it without you pumping water for me." Ben was clearly anxious with a touch of confusion.

Michael found himself fumbling for words, which was not usually unusual, just in this case incredibly spectacular. "What are you making in there?"

Ben looked down the hallway as he talked. "Its a spider poison for Ludwig's pumpkin plants. He's complaining about his crops again."

"Doesn't the Ludwig family farm beets and yams?"

Ben nodded. "He's been trying a new crop. Its probably best not to mention it too much."

Michael nodded. "My lips are sealed."

Ben narrowed his gaze on Michael. "Why are you being so nice?"

"What do you mean?"

Ben scoffed. "Don't give me that! My entire family is an outcast of the town. I don't appear at social functions and I brew roots to kill spiders. You aren't under any obligation to me. I don't want your charity."

Michael's puppy dog eyes made Ben's stern tone melt a bit. "You're not so alone as you think Ben."

That was the beginning of their friendship, a relationship not far behind. Michael was dreamer and Ben was an outcast, so it was easier for the pair to keep to themselves. They would picnic near streams and tell jokes behind haystacks on the outskirts of farms. Ben found that Victor's sourdough rolls were among his favorite things, especially when mixed with his dad's famous brewed honey.

A night came when the pair was stuck together in the midst of the world's biggest thunderstorm. They crashed in a barn on the heels of a thunderous boom, laughing and soaking wet. Ben was better at a making a fire, but Michael was king at keeping them both warm that night. Neither could know with the morning sun, everything would have to change.

Victor was worried for his son. His new friend and a missing night made him very cross when Michael finally came home. He was forbade from seeing Ben ever again. That was the first time Michael ever cried or cursed in front of his father. He left the house, intending to head for Ben. But somewhere along the line, he came to a detour and found himself walking that familiar path back towards the well. It was here he cried, tears mingling with the drinking supply. Once again, he found a dandelion growing in the shade.

He plucked the flower as before, but this time made a wish as the furry petals blew into the wind. He looked deep at his reflection sadly, and found that it was growing dim. In fact, Michael gripped the sides of the well itself as the entire forest seemed to go dim. Michael became blind. Stumbling home required three times the energy. He had nowhere else he could think to go, no one else who he could think would help him that was close enough. Michael should had been glad not to see the pale shade his father's face turned as Michael began to cling to him for help.

It became easier, little by little, to learn what it meant to live without sight. For Michael, studies that were useless now became pointless. He continued working at the shop because it was the only way to still support the family. Only now, he could no longer bake or cut without too much injury to himself. He could judge mixing by the sound of the milk or water in the bread. He could still be useful, all prior arguments forgotten.

Victor answered the door one night to find Ben standing aloof of the entrance to the bakery.

"Yes?" Victor's voice was hesitant.

Ben looked down at the ground, crossing himself in a very unsure fashion. "I was wondering if Michael was around."

Victor nodded harshly. "He is. But he's not in a condition to take visitors."

Ben's voice was very soft. "Oh."

"Why don't you..."

Victor was interrupted by Michael approaching behind him. "Who is it, father?" Michael quickly jumped behind Victor as he recognized the gasp.

"My god..."

Michael whispered to Victor. "I don't want him to see me like this."

Victor nodded. "And he won't either."

Even though the door shut on Ben that one day, he would still not give up. He continued to haunt the bakery house to the point where Victor was considering finding another village to become prosperous at. But the thought of moving a blinded Michael made him shake his head and forget the whole thing.

Ben was persistent enough to catch Michael one evening as he was putting the signs away, plenty of daylight still in the air.

"Why do you keep coming?" Michael's voice was harsh.

"Because you've helped me and it wouldn't be fair..." Ben stumbled for words.

"Wouldn't be fair? I'm the one whose lost my vision for no apparent reason!"

Ben pleaded with Michael as he shoved a package into his hands. "Please don't shout. I don't really believe in my dad's hocus pocus, but I want to believe this time. And even if you're still blind, you're still the closest thing I've ever had to a .... friend."

Michael seemed to stare at the package for forever. "I can't..."

But Ben was already gone, trotting hard down the street and nearly throwing himself into the path of a moving carriage.

Michael carried the bundle to his now clean working table. It sat there, unopened, as the day faded away. Michael could feel the room's warmth as a comfort. But he couldn't help thinking about Ben. Ben, who had nothing to gain from Michael's sight and yet was still helping him. It confused Michael, made him think and made him wonder. Perhaps, his wish had been taken a bit too literally.

The package felt gooey in Michael's hands. It was easier to figure out what to do with it rather than how to apply. It took quite a few tries, but Michael's eyes were soon covered in the goop. There was a stinging sensation that caused tears and that same smell of potato and other ingredients that made Michael think unfairly of Ben. But nothing changed in his vision, it was still dark. Well, that is, until Victor came into the room.

"Son, what are you doing?"

Michael's voice sounded very meek. "Nothing. I just like the warmth."

Victor nodded, even though he knew Michael could not see it. "Well, come then. Its time for bed. Leave that fowl smelling goop for morning. I hope the cleaning is easier than the mess."

Michael shrugged. "I just wanted to know if Ben was right."

Victor shook his head. "People like that rarely are."

Michael sighed as Victor helped him down from his stool. "You wouldn't think so, standing right next to him during sunset on a hill, laughing."

Victor replied bitterly. "Another thing that's been robbed from you then."

Michael shook his head. Their fighting had become more intense and less playful ever since the incident. What let down Michael even more is that Ben's package hadn't worked. He had wanted it to work so bad.

The next morning began like any other morning. The sound of birds layered themselves over Michael's warm blanket. He was super sensitive to early morning temperatures now, but knew he couldn't really just laze about. He could already smell the bread from down in the oven.

With a sigh, Michael opened his eyes. He struggled to open his eyes in a panic. With his vision gone, the world had been regulated to shadows and now everything was filtered in brown light. Michael reached up for his face and began to rub at his eyes, little drops of whatever Ben's father had made falling onto his sheets in crumbs.

He blinked the rest away and found that light was replacing the dark. Shapes were woozy and unfamiliar, but they were there. The shapes were coming back fast.

"Dad!" Michael screamed, still running out of his room without dressing for the day.

"Michael, do you need..." Victor trailed off, caught in a large Michael shaped hug.

"I can see!"

"You're not really...wait, say that again?" Victor's fingers were already over Michael's eyes, trying to make sure he wasn't playing a cruel joke.

"Dad! Stop that....you're gonna poke me blind again."

"But you can see! It's a miracle!"

Michael shook his head. "No, it's not. Last night it was too dark to tell if...oh my god, Ben!"

Michael rushed to the door and Victor hollered behind him. "Wait!"

Michael paused. "Why? What else do you have to say about him?"

Victor inhaled for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Only that, if you think he is wonderful than I should try and see what's wonderful in him too. That, and, you're still not dressed to be outdoors."

Michael gave a grin before reaching for the door handle and thinking better of it. He flew back up the stairs to change and flew out of the house, Victor shaking his hand while putting in the next batch of loaves to bake.

The journey should have begun toward Ben's cottage, but something inside Michael made him turn at the last moment and head toward the well. There was something he wanted to know first. But as he ran there, he saw that he was not alone knowing the secret of the well.

"Wait!" Michael hollered, and the man stopped. Ben stopped as he was picking a flower, turning around. Michael grabbed the dandelion from his hand. "Don't waste a wish on me. You've already made it come true."

Ben looked into Michael's eyes as they reacted to his own. "You can see again! Dad's concoction worked."

Michael let Ben grab him at the elbows in joy. "Partially, yes. But it was more you than anything."

"You're talking in riddles again, Michael."

Michael shook his head, smiling. "No, I'm not. I wished with one of these flowers that my true love would be there for me. I think the flower and the well took it a bit literally, but it proved the point."

Ben shook his head. "Don't start with that dream. You may not like where it leads."

Michael smiled, leaning in to kiss Ben. "I don't care."


End file.
